
Class _ 

Book l 

Copyright N°. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



£>aint Jfrancie of teeter 




SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI. 
From the statue by Andrea della Robbia. 



Saint JzLranus 
of Assist 




flew £ork 



(tfjomae 2. Croweff K Co. 



puBfiefJete 



Copyright, 1906, by Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. 
Published, September, 1906 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Rectived 

SEP 21 1906 

« Cepyn?tit Entry 
&>.^/. 'fol 
CLASS ff XXc, Nt. 

AT C t> 1 i 

COPY B. ^ ' 



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D. B. Updike, The Merrymount Press, Boston 



Jranceeco c "poverta per questi amatui 
•prendi oramai ncl mio parlar diffuse 
£a lor concordia c i lor lieti sembianti, 
Smore c maraviglia c dolec sguardo 
^accan e^ser cation di petwier santi. 

Pante, "paradi^o, ri, 74-78 



Saint U*ancte 
ofH&rtgi 



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E of to-day, proud of the achievements 
of our own civilization, are fond of 
speaking of the centuries preceding the Re- 
naissance as the Dark Ages, as if ignorance 
and darkness were their chief, if not only, char- 
acteristics. Modern scholarship, however, is 
beginning to show more and more how vast 
was the influence exerted by those centuries 
on the world's history, and men are coming no 
longer to regard this period of transition with 
contempt or condescension, but with ever-in- 
creasing interest and oftentimes with genuine 
admiration. 
Few centuries have been more fraught with 
potentiality if not with accomplishment than 
the twelfth and thirteenth. It was then that 
arose the free imperial cities all over Europe, 
the development of which gradually under- 
mined the whole structure of Feudalism and 
laid the foundation of constitutional govern- 
ment; it was then that the almost fabulous 
number of great cathedrals were begun which 



£>aint Stands ofRmei 

have been the admiration and amazement of 
mankind, and which the present generation 
often finds difficult to keep even in repair; it 
was then that the sister arts of painting and 
sculpture began their upward progress toward 
perfection, leaving all along their triumphant 
pathway those works which are among the 
priceless possessions of mankind. 

But the most potent influence of these epoch- 
making centuries was in the profound stirring 
up of men's hearts, the deep revival of spiritual 
religion, which swept like a mighty tidal wave 
over Europe and which shook to its very foun- 
dations the hierarchical system of the Roman 
Church. We are apt to look on the Reforma- 
tion as a sudden outbreak of evangelical re- 
ligion, as the sole work of a few men,— Luther, 
Zwingli, Calvin. But when we examine more 
closely the genesis of that movement we find, 
here as elsewhere in the human and natural 
world, that there are no cataclysms, but that 
all great movements have been preparing for 
centuries, "broadening slowly down from pre- 
cedent to precedent." 

If we cast a bird's-eye glance over the history 
of Western Christianity we see two distinct in- 
fluences at work, the one objective, the other 
subjective. On the one hand we behold the up- 



§>aint jftancie of fleefci 

building of the stupendous structure of the 
Roman Church, with its complicated hierarchy, 
its claims of universal overlordship, and its 
scholastic theology; on the other hand, we see, 
from the days of the Apostolic Church to the 
present, the stream of spiritual, personal, evan- 
gelical religion flowing down the centuries, 
sometimes pure, sometimes mixed with mys- 
ticism and strange superstitions - for the most 
part hidden, though at times broadening out 
beneath the open sky — but never flowing full 
and unrestrained until after the Reformation. 
The essence of what we now know as Protes- 
tantism existed— in many respects mingled 
with other things, it is true— throughout all the 
Dark and Middle Ages, almost always, how- 
ever, under the stigma of heresy. It is found in 
the conduct if not in all the teaching of the 
Cathari, who, in addition to the Manichaean 
doctrines of the good and evil powers, believed 
in living lives patterned after Christ ; it is found 
in the Albigenses, who had the same doctrines 
as the Cathari without their Manichaeism, and 
who were destroyed by that most iniquitous of 
all crusades, instigated by Saint Dominic, pro- 
mulgated by Pope Innocent III, and carried 
out to the bitter end by Simon de Montfort; it 
is found in the Waldensians, — the Poor Men 

3 



§>aint Stands of Jfeetei 

of Lyons,— who sought to lay up for them- 
selves treasures in heaven rather than on earth, 
lived lives of poverty, went about preaching 
the doctrines of pure religion, cheerful under 
persecution, dying joyfully at the stake for their 
opinions. 

All these sects fell under the ban of the 
Church, their followers were stigmatized as 
heretics and suffered persecution and martyr- 
dom.Their doctrines, however, lived after them, 
not only to reappear, purged and purified, cen- 
turies later in the crucible of the Reformation, 
but carried on by their contemporaries in the 
bosom of the Church itself. The essence of the 
Franciscan religion is that of the Waldensians, 
joined to loyalty and obedience to the Roman 
Church. The predecessor of Saint Francis was 
just as much Petrus Waldus, the Poor Man 
of Lyons, as Fra Gioachino de' Fiore, that mys- 
tical monk living high up among the moun- 
tains of Calabria, 

"Di spirito profetico dotato." 

In the year 1209 a vas * army under Simon de 
Montfort passed like a destructive fire over 
the beautiful hills and valleys of Provence, sent 
by Pope Innocent III to extirpate heresy by 
fire and sword. Villages were burnt, fields laid 



Jxiint Jfrancte of Jtmei 

waste, flourishing cities besieged, captured 
and destroyed; thousands and tens of thou- 
sands of men, women and children were slain. 

On February twenty-fourth, of this same year, 
a young man twenty-seven years old was pre- 
sent at the celebration of mass in the little 
chapel of Santa Maria della Porziuncula,a mile 
or two from the Umbrian city of Assisi.The gos- 
pel for the day was from the tenth chapter of 
Matthew, and as the young man heard the fa- 
miliar words: "Go, preach, saying the kingdom 
of heaven is at hand. Heal the sick, cleanse the 
lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye 
have received, freely give," a new light broke 
into his soul ; he felt that he understood the will 
of Christ to him-ward as he never had done be- 
fore. "Immediately," says Saint Bonaventura, 
"with great joy he cried out, 'These are the 
things which I wish and desire with all my 
heart and with all my mind;' whereupon he 
straightway loosened the sandals from his feet, 
cast away his wallet and his staff, and began to 
go about calling upon all men to repent." 

Yet this scene, so striking, so fraught with 
consequences for the Roman Church — nay, for 
the whole Christian world— -was on the part of 
Saint Francis of Assisi only the climax of a long 
period of seeking after God if haply he might 



Jmtnt ftantie of Reeiei 

find Him. The story of the conversion of men 
of great religious genius is always an interest- 
ing one, whether it be Martin Luther, rising to 
his feet halfway up the Santa Scala at Rome, 
crying, "The just shall live by faith;" or John 
Wesley in the little room in Aldersgate Street, 
listening, with heart strangely warm within 
him, to the reading of Luther's Preface to the 
Epistle to the Romans; or Martin Boehm, 
one of the founders of the Church of the United 
Brethren in Christ, kneeling beside his plow 
in the fertile fields of his Pennsylvania farm. 

No less interesting is the story of the conver- 
sion of Saint Francis. Born at Assisi, in 1182, 
the son of wealthy parents, he had lived a wild 
and careless life ; had loved rich garments, ban- 
quets, gay companions, and seemed little de- 
stined to become one who should induce other 
men to incur voluntarily and cheerfully the pri- 
vations of poverty. There are certain definite 
steps in his conversion from the world to Christ. 
In 1202 war broke out between Assisi and Pe- 
rugia; a battle was fought in the plain between 
the two cities, and Saint Francis was taken pri- 
soner, remaining in Perugia a year. Although 
he spent this time cheerfully, singing, and not 
lamenting, yet he must have had plenty of op- 
portunity to reflect on the frivolity of his early life. 




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&aint jfrancie of Jfoeiei 
After his release and return home he suffered 
a prolonged and serious illness. When he was 
convalescent he left the house one day, leaning 
on a cane, to look out over the beautiful Um- 
brian plain, which he had seen so often with 
joy and pleasure. But somehow or other, as he 
stood there that day, he felt that a change had 
occurred. All that exquisite beauty of a spring 
in Umbria,the flowers, birds, blue sky, the level 
plain dotted with towns and villages and the 
amphitheatre of hills on the horizon, left his 
heart cold and melancholy. The time had come 
to him, as it came to Wordsworth six hundred 
years later, as it comes to all men through 
sickness, sorrow, or the creeping steps of age, 
when, although the 

"Rainbow comes and goes 

And lovely is the rose, 

And waters on a starry night 

Are beautiful and fair 
And the sunshine is a glorious birth — 

Yet we know, where'er we go, 
That there hath passed away a glory from the earth." 

From that time on Saint Francis could not rid 
his heart of a deep feeling of discontent and 
sadness; a yearning for something, he knew 
not what, haunted his soul. He tried to drown 
the feeling in pleasure; he resumed his inter- 



J>aint Jfrancie of Jleeiei 

course with his gay companions, was present 
at their banquets, and took part in their bril- 
liant cavalcades. He joined the troops of Wal- 
ter of Brienne, who was making an expedition 
to Naples in the interest of Pope Innocent III ; 
but after extensive preparations, and after he 
had gone a few miles, he had a vision — what 
it was we know not — and returned to Assisi. 

He began to seek lonely places, spent hours 
in prayer and in wandering through the fields. 
One day in the little ruined chapel of Saint 
Damian, about half a mile from Assisi, it 
seemed to him as if the Christ on the crucifix 
spoke to him, demanding his soul, his life and 
his service. His heart melted within him; as 
the quaint mediaeval Latin of his biographer 
has it: "Ab ilia hora vulneratum et liquefac- 
tum est cor ejus ad memoriam dominicae pas- 
sionis." Another day, while on horseback, he 
met a leper, and, obeying a natural impulse, 
he turned away; but almost immediately, be- 
ing filled with remorse, he came back, gave the 
leper what money he had, and kissed his hand. 

He now gave up all his worldly pleasures, 
renounced his heritage, sold his fine clothes, 
wandered about in rags, was looked on as in- 
sane by his former companions, became an ob- 
ject of derision on the part of the children, and, 

. 8 



&aint ftancie of Jfeeter 

hardest of all, was repudiated, beaten and in- 
sulted by his father and brother. But in return 
for this he had a heart full of love and joy un- 
speakable. As he went through the woods one 
day he broke out singing— he had a strong, 
sweet voice, we are told. Some robbers, at- 
tracted by his songs, came up and asked who 
he was. "lam the herald of a great King," he 
said. They took away his cloak, flung him into 
a ditch filled with snow, saying, "Lo, there is 
your place, poor herald of God." 

But duringall these varied experiences he had 
not yet found his true home and vocation in this 
world. And so it was that the scene in the chapel 
of Saint Damian, on that day in February, 1209, 
formed the climax of his religious development. 
From that time on he spent his life in the ser- 
vice of others, preaching, caring for the sick, 
helping the poor, converting sinners. 

In such a life chronological records have but 
little place. The true events or crises are the 
facts connected with the man's character and 
influence. We can sum up all that we need to 
know of outward events in few words : his birth 
in 1 182; his imprisonment in Perugia in 1202 ; 
his final conversion in 1209; his visit to Rome 
and the oral confirmation of his First Rule by 
Innocent III ; the journey to the Holy Land and 

9 



&aint ftanm ofReeiei 

his colloquy with the Sultan of Babylon ; the 
gift by the Benedictine monks of Mount Suba- 
sio of the little chapel of thePorziuncula, which 
from that day became the headquarters of the 
Order; the journeys through Umbria and Tus- 
cany, preaching and converting ; the rapid in- 
crease in the number of his followers; the dis- 
sension in regard to the observance of the Rule 
which saddened the last years of his life; his re- 
ception of the stigmata in 1224, and his death 
on October 4, 1226. This, in brief, is a summary 
of the outer facts of his life. 
Above the high altar in the lower church at 
Assisi is a picture by Giotto representing the 
marriage of Saint Francis to poverty, the most 
touching of all the frescoes of that wonderful 
building. In it we see a woman, thin and rag- 
ged, holding out her hand to Saint Francis, to 
whom she is united by Christ. Before her a boy 
is casting stones, another points a long rod at 
her in scorn, while a dog is barking at her 
feet. This picture illustrates the ruling passion 
and most significant feature of the life of Saint 
Francis: his humility and his abnegation of 
those things— riches and honor— for which all 
men are struggling. He required in his fol- 
lowers the same things he required in himself: 
to sell all they had to feed the poor, and then, 
10 




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in lowliness and humility, to beg or work for 
the simple food necessary to existence. 

The patience and meekness of Saint Francis 
in this life of self-enforced privation and suffer- 
ing are almost unexampled. No word of com- 
plaint ever escaped his lips; nay, the greater 
the privation and suffering the greater the joy 
he felt. His ideal of happiness is well expressed 
in that oft-quoted story from the Fioretti which 
tells us how, walking one day from Perugia to 
Assisi with Fra Leone, he said that happiness 
did not consist in reputation for holiness, nor 
in the working of miracles, nor in universal 
knowledge, nor in the gift of prophecy, but in 
receiving insults, rebuffs, beatings and hard- 
ships of all kinds, with humility, gladness and 
love: "Write down, O Brother Leone, that this 
is perfect joy." 

This constant spirit of cheerfulness and joy 
was one of the most striking things about his 
character. Always and everywhere, in the hut 
of the poor, in the palace of the rich, in the dens 
of those outcasts of mediaeval society, the le- 
pers, he wore a sweet and smiling face. In his 
Rule he made joy a part of Christian duty, and 
often rebuked his followers for being melan- 
choly. " My brother, why this sad face? Have 
you committed sin? That concerns only God 

ii 



§>aint Stancie of fleem 

and yourself. Go and pray. But before me and 
your brothers always wear a mien full of holy 
joy. For it is not proper when one is in the ser- 
vice of God to be of a sullen and morose counte- 
nance." These words remind us involuntarily of 
that scene in Dante's Inferno where the souls 
of the melancholy are plunged beneath the 
surface of a gloomy marsh. " There is perhaps 
nothing," says Ruskin, speaking of this pas- 
sage of Dante, "more notable than the pro- 
found truth couched under the attachment of 
so terrible a punishment to sadness or sorrow. 
I do not know words that might with more be- 
nefit be borne with us and set in our hearts 
against the minor regrets and rebelliousness 
than these simple ones: 

'We once were sad, 
In the sweet air, made gladsome by the sun, 
Now in these murky settlings we are sad.'" 

What Dante taught in his symbolic vision, 
Saint Francis taught by his own example. 
In this constant joy of his, his dislike to grieve 
others by his own sorrows, we have one phase of 
another of his most striking characteristics — 
his exquisite spirit of courtesy. This he showed 
all his life long by example and precept. In the 
Fioretti we read how he said to a noble cavalier 
who desired to become a member of the Order, 



12 



Jmint Stands offleem 

"Know, dearest brother [carissimo fratello], 
that courtesy is one of the attributes of God, 
who gives his sun and his rain to the just and 
the unjust through his courtesy; and courtesy 
is sister to charity, which extinguishes hate 
and preserves love." The method of Saint Fran- 
cis was not like that of the minister who once 
proclaimed from the pulpit, "I would break any 
man's back if I could save his soul." 
We might linger longer over these minor 
traits of Saint Francis, his perfect tact, his ire- 
nic spirit, his mansuetude— that quality so lit- 
tle known to-day that even the name is obsoles- 
cent, if not obsolete. But all these are dimmed 
by the greater glory of the one overwhelming 
passion of his soul in its triple form of love for 
man, love for nature, and love for God. No man 
since the days of the Saviour had a heart more 
overflowing with love; it was the great feature 
of his character, the motive of all his actions, 
the secret of that invincible attraction which 
he exercised over all men— nay, over all ani- 
mals, if we may believe the many stories told 
of him. He loved the rich as well as the poor, 
and not merely the poor as well as the rich. 
After the sanction of the First Rule by Inno- 
cent III, in 1209, he sent his followers forth to 
preach, two by two, and among other things 

13 



§>aint Stand* of Jteeiti 

he said to them, "Let peace be still more in 
your heart than on your lips. Give to no one 
occasion of wrath and scandal. Invite every- 
body to benignity, concord and union. Take 
care not to judge and despise the rich who live 
in luxury and wear soft raiment, for God is their 
Lord as well as ours." 

But yet Saint Francis looked upon the poor 
and sick and needy as his peculiar brethren. 
Those who have had a glimpse of the horrors 
of leprosy, — that awful plague of the Middle 
Ages,— and the cruel measures taken by the 
well to protect themselves from contamination, 
the outlawry, the wooden clappers, the lazar- 
houses, will need no greater proof of the de- 
votion and charity of Saint Francis than his 
constant service of these poor outcasts of hu- 
manity. Not his the selfish pleasures of those 
hermits, far up among the lofty hilltops of Italy, 
who passed the long days and longer nights 
in prayer and contemplation, acquiring thus a 
state of mystic ecstasy. It is true that he had a 
love for contemplation, and was often tempted 
to spend his life in this exercise, but at the same 
time he had another impulse toward the suffer- 
ing world about him. To him as well as to the 
poet could be applied the lines of Matthew 
Arnold: 



£>aint ftancie ofJtewi 

"Two desires toss about 

The poet's feverish blood ; 
One drives him to the world without 
And one to solitude." 

"Go," he said to his followers, "go, and teach. 
It is not for our salvation that God has called 
us in his goodness, but also for the salvation 
of the people." 

His love for men showed itself in his constant 
effort not only to relieve their physical suffer- 
ings and needs, not only to cheer and comfort 
their spirits, but to lessen the evils of clashing 
interests, civil discord and war. Then, as now, 
there was hatred between the rich and the 
poor; then, as now, there were grave social 
problems to settle. Saint Francis approached 
all these problems in a spirit of love and bro- 
therly kindness. In 1210 he intervened between 
the barons and the peasants in the country 
about Assisi and persuaded the lords to sign 
a charter granting freedom to their serfs; in 
1220 he exhorted the Guelphs and Ghibellines 
of Bologna to peace ; and when, shortly be- 
fore his death, a bitter contest broke out be- 
tween the bishop and the magistrates of Assisi 
he composed a new stanza to his Cantico del 
Sole on the blessings of peace and sent his 
friars to sing it to the warring parties. 

15 



J>amt Stanm of Reem 
Still another way in which the love of Saint 
Francis showed itself was in the making of 
many friends. An invincible attraction seemed 
to draw all men unto him ; those who were rich, 
like Bernardo da Quintavalle, common people 
like Fra Leone,— il pecorello di dio , as he affec- 
tionately called him, — poets like Fra Pacifico, 
noble lords like the Count of Chiusi, high 
church dignitaries like the Cardinal Ostiense, 
—later Pope Gregory IX, — all these became his 
intimate friends, drawn to him by his strange 
magnetic influence. 

Of all his friendships, however, none is more 
attractive than that for Santa Clara of Assisi. 
We catch a glimpse of this sweet girl-saint in 
the Fioretti, and in her own legend we read 
how when only sixteen years old she, the 
daughter of a noble family of Assisi, heard 
Saint Francis preach ; how the words struck 
deep into her heart, and how, confirmed in her 
determination by him, she gave up the world 
to devote herself to God and to suffering hu- 
manity. It was a strange, picturesque sight, 
that night of the nineteenth of March, 1212, 
when the young girl, fleeing her father's house, 
was received by Saint Francis in the Porziun- 
cula, and amid blazing candles and burning in- 
cense was tonsured and consecrated to the 
16 



§>aint Stancie of Jfeetet 
service of Holy Poverty. From this time on to 
the death of Saint Francis a genuine friend- 
ship existed between the two; yet their rela- 
tions were marked by such perfect tact that no 
breath of suspicion has ever sullied the memory 
of this unique love of saint for saint. He wrote 
to her, counselled her, and from time to time 
visited her in the monastery of Saint Damian, 
where she had founded the Order of Poor 
Clares. 

On one occasion a feeling of great discourage- 
ment came over him, a doubt as to the useful- 
ness of his teaching and preaching. The temp- 
tation came to him whether it were not better 
to retire from the world and give himself up en- 
tirely to contemplation. So he sent Fra Masseo 
to Saint Clara asking her to pray God to show 
him what to do. And she answered: "Thus 
saith the Lord, that you should say to Saint 
Francis that God has not called him into the 
world for himself alone, but that he should bear 
fruit of souls, and that many through him 
should be saved." And Saint Francis, hearing 
this, rose up with great fervor and said, "Let 
us go, then, in the name of the Lord," and so 
started out, filled with the Spirit, not knowing 
whither he went. It was on this occasion that, 
his heart overflowing with love and tenderness 

17 



£>aint Jfrancie of Jteem 

toward all God's creatures, he preached the 
sermon to the birds near Bevagna, of which 
we shall speak later. 

One of the most beautiful chapters in the Fio- 
retti tells how Saint Clara ate with Saint Fran- 
cis at Santa Maria degli Angeli ; how before the 
meal began he spoke of God so sweetly that 
the company forgot to eat, and sat there rapt in 
ecstasy. And, while they remained thus with 
eyes and handsuplifted toward heaven, themen 
of Assisi and the country round about saw a 
great light streaming from the windows of the 
church, and thinking it was a fire, ran thither 
to put it out. But on arriving they found that 
there was no fire, and entering in, they saw 
Saint Francis, Saint Clara and all the company 
sitting silently about the table with eyes up- 
lifted, a still smile upon their lips, and a soft 
light hovering above their heads. 

It has been said that a genuine love for nature 
is characteristic of the modern spirit, being 
practically unknown to the ancients and to the 
Middle Ages. This is true to a certain extent, 
at least so far as art and literary expression are 
concerned. I doubt, however, whether many 
people of to-day have a more genuine love for 
nature in all her forms than had the Poverello 
of Assisi. It was not aesthetic or artistic, but, 

18 



&aint Stancie of Jtwiei 

like his love for mankind, it was universal, full 
of tenderness and artlessness, giving itself not 
only to animate but to inanimate nature, to bro- 
ther sun and sister moon, as he quaintly called 
them. One of the rubrics in the Speculum Per- 
fectionis, written by Fra Leone, reads as fol- 
lows: " Of the singular love Saint Francis had 
for water and stones and trees and flowers." 

He loved all kinds of plant life, and in the same 
book we read how he made the gardener of the 
monastery plant sweet-smelling flowers, that 
in their season they might invite those who 
saw them to praise God, "Omnis enim creatura 
dicit et clamat Deus me fecit propter te, homo." 
Dante had the same thoughts in mind when 
he wrote that passage in the Earthly Paradise 
where he describes a beautiful lady slowly 
walking over the green meadow, singing and 
weaving garlands of flowers in her hands, and 
who, on being asked by Virgil why she sang, 
referred him to the words of the ninety-se- 
cond Psalm: "Thou, Lord, hast made me glad 
through thy works." Ruskin has said of this 
passage that it is "the most important in re- 
gard to nature love in the whole circle of poe- 
try ; for it contains the first great confession of 
the discovery by the human race that their hap- 
piness was not in themselves and that their la- 

19 



&aint Stands ofRmei 
bor was not to have their own service as its 
chief end." 

Saint Francis had a personal love for all ani- 
mals, for the birds of the air, the beasts of the 
field, the fish of the sea. The ants alone incurred 
hisdislike, "because,"saysFraEgidio, "of their 
excess of prudence in gathering and laying 
away stores of grain." Nor can we blame him 
much, for frugality and thrift are useful quali- 
ties, but one could hardly call them lovable. 

It does not surprise us that, with his poetic na- 
ture, Saint Francis was especially fond of birds. 
On that day when Saint Clara encouraged him 
to go on, and he had started out with renewed 
courage and joy, he came upon a flock of birds 
near Bevagna, and as they flew about him he 
preached to them as follows: "Little birds, ye 
are much beholden toward God your Creator, 
and in every place you ought to praise him. 
You should thank him for your warm covering, 
and for the air which he has given you to live 
in ; that, neither sowing nor reaping, you are fed 
by him ; that he gives you the mountains and 
the valleys for your refuge, and the high trees 
to build your nests in, and the rivers and foun- 
tains to drink in. Wherefore, little sister birds, 
since God loves you so much, beware of the sin 
of ingratitude and forget not to praise Him." 

20 



£>aint ftancie offlewi 

Probably Saint Francis was the first man in 
history to have the thoughts of the rights and 
comfort of animals which have culminated in 
our day in the formation of the Audubon So- 
ciety and the Society for the Prevention of 
Cruelty to Animals. We are told in the Specu- 
lum Perfectionis how he wished to persuade 
the Emperor to make a special law, to the effect 
that at Christmas time men should provide 
well, not only for the poor, but for the domestic 
animals, that they should cast grain on the 
roads for the birds, and that no man should be 
allowed to take or kill the larks or do them any 
harm. 

No wonder that this love for animals was re- 
turned. We are told of hares and rabbits who 
sought refuge in the folds of his dress, of the 
sheep who lifted their heads and nodded as he 
passed by, of the birds who gathered around 
him and ceased their songs at his request and 
listened as he preached to the multitudes. One 
beautiful touch is given by Saint Bonaventura 
in his description of the death of Saint Francis, 
where he tells us how "those birds which are 
called the larks, who love according to their na- 
ture the light of day and hate the darkness, on 
the night when Saint Francis passed away from 
this life gathered in great numbers on the roof 

21 



&aint Stanm of Jteeiet 

of the house where he was and for a long time 
went about singing and showing signs of joy 
and festivity, rendering testimony to the glory 
of the holy father who so often had taught them 
to praise their Creator." 

The deepest spring of love in the heart of Saint 
Francis, however, was for God. From that 
source sprang all the rest. It was not so much 
mystical, or sentimental, as practical ; it did not 
manifest itself by brooding over his own feel- 
ings or over the problems of theology, but was 
simple and childlike, a personal yearning after 
Him whom he took as his model. 

In the early days of his conversion he could 
not think of the sufferings and love of Christ 
without being deeply moved. He was found 
wandering in the fields one day, weeping bit- 
terly, and, on being asked why, said, "I weep 
forthe Passion of mySaviour." We are told that 
often during the celebration of mass he would 
be so absorbed in contemplation that it seemed 
for very sweetness that his soul left his body. 
It is interesting to compare this experience, 
caused by religious exaltation, with that of 
Wordsworth so many centuries later, when in 
his mystical contemplation of nature he fell into 

"that serene and blessed mood, 
In which the affections gently lead us on, — 

22 



£>aint Stancie of Reem 

Until, the breath of this corporeal frame 
And even the motion of our human blood 
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep 
In body, and become a living soul." 

The leading motif of the Fioretti is the resem- 
blance between Saint Francis and Christ. There 
we are told that he had twelve disciples, fasted 
forty days, preached from a boat to the multi- 
tude gathered on the seashore, wrought mir- 
acles, changed water to wine, healed the sick, 
restored sight to the blind, drove out devils. 
But in his character, far more than in these 
legendary outward things, did he resemble his 
Master. All men who have studied his life— ra- 
tionalist historians like Renan, learned Ger- 
man theologians like Ritschl, enthusiastic spe- 
cialists like Sabatier — are agreed that no man 
ever came more near to the character of Christ 
than Saint Francis. His gentleness, his seren- 
ity and sweetness of spirit, his perfect tact, his 
deep compassion for all suffering humanity, his 
need of prayer, his discouragement, his yearn- 
ing for communion with God from time to time, 
his practical application of religion, his min- 
gling with the crowds in the market-place, and 
his simple appeals to the hearts of the people 
—all these things and many more make the life 
of Saint Francis a true Imitation of Jesus Christ 

23 



Jkint ftanm of Jfoeiei 
rather than the cold, inaccessible heights of 
that famous manual of monastic austerity writ- 
ten by Thomas a Kempis. 

The climax of this love for Christ came when, 
in the autumn of 1224, he received the stigmata 
in La Verna, the hermitage in the valley of the 
Arno given to him in 1213 by the Count of 
Chiusi to be a place of prayer and contempla- 
tion. 

In spite of the constant labors of Saint Fran- 
cis among the people, he loved contemplation 
as much as any of his monastic predecessors 
who, forgetful of the great mass of suffering 
mankind, spent their lives in this selfish kind 
of holiness. All along the pathway of his life 
are scattered the places where he retired from 
the world from time to time. During his later 
years he especially loved La Verna, a steep, 
precipitous mass of rock rising a thousand feet 
above the surrounding country, far up among 
the head waters of the Arno, affording from its 
forest-clad summit a beautiful view, on the one 
hand, of Romagna and the March of Ancona, 
with the Adriatic Sea on the horizon; on the 
other hand, Umbria, Tuscany, and far away the 
faint blue streak of the Mediterranean. 

" Auf dem Berge ist Freiheit," sings Schiller, 
in the Braut von Messina, and men of all ages 
24 




SAINT FRANCIS RECEIVING THE STIGMATA. 
From the fresco by Niccolo di Pietro Gerini. 



§>aint $tancie of Remi 

have found a calm peace in high altitudes. In 
Italy throughout the Middle Ages nearly every 
mountain had its hermitage consecrated to the 
still worship of God. Saint Francis, who loved 
nature in all her forms, had especially in his 
heart the "longing for the everlasting hills," the 
desiderium collium aeternorum spoken of in 
the book of Genesis, and often when discour- 
aged, sick in body and mind, troubled and dis- 
turbed with the quarrels and bickerings which 
saddened his last days, his thoughts must have 
wandered to the high, thin air of his beloved 
La Verna. 

It was in the fall of 1224, two years before the 
death of Saint Francis. He was sick and frail, 
suffering from a complication of diseases, al- 
most blind. He yearned once more to see the 
hermitage of La Verna, set out with three com- 
panions, and after long efforts finally succeeded 
in reaching the summit of the hill. Here he re- 
mained for five or six weeks, spending literally 
days and nights in solitude, prayer and con- 
templation. 

Early on the morning of the fourteenth of 
September — it was the Feast of the Exalta- 
tion of the Cross — Saint Francis was engaged 
in earnest prayer when suddenly he saw a se- 
raphic figure with six wings descending from 

25 



§>aint ftancie of Jteeiei 
the sky and flying toward him. As he looked he 
saw the figure of a man nailed to a cross within 
the wings, and all at once his heart was thrilled 
with unspeakable joy while his body was full of 
piercing pains. When the vision had passed 
away he found in his hands and feet dark ex- 
crescences having the appearance of nails. 

It is not my business here to discuss the au- 
thenticity of this event. Professor Mozleysays 
that, whatever the nature or cause of the marks 
on the hands and feet of Saint Francis may 
have been, the testimony as to their actual ex- 
istence is irrefutable. They were seen and be- 
lieved in by men in all ranks of life, from the 
humble friar to Pope Gregory IX, who in the 
hearing of Saint Bonaventura definitely de- 
clared that he had seen the stigmata with his 
own eyes. At all events, they form in legend or 
history the climax of a career of transcendent 
piety. 

From that day forward Saint Francis felt that 
his end was not far off. He left La Verna a 
few days after, and as he and his companions 
reached the place whence one gets a last view 
of the mountain and hermitage he dismounted, 
knelt, and said: "Farewell, mountain of God, in 
which it has pleased Him to dwell. Remain in 
peace; we shall never see each other again." 
26 



Jmtnt Svancie of fleem 
In the summer of 1225 he spent four or five 
weeks at the monastery of Saint Damian, cared 
for by Saint Clara. He was very weak and al- 
most blind, yet the kindness and love of those 
about him and his own perfect trust in God 
kept him free from sadness and discourage- 
ment. It was under these circumstances that 
he composed the Cantico del Sole, that out- 
burst of joy and exultation of a soul touched 
by the beauty of the natural world and full of 
worship for God. 

One day, after a long conversation with Saint 
Clara, he sat down at the table to eat his fru- 
gal meal. But almost immediately he fell into 
a sort of trance, and on coming to himself he 
repeated the stanzas of that song. Not all the 
stanzas, however, for the last was not com- 
posed until nearly a year later. It was under the 
following circumstances : The physician had 
tried to keep from him the serious nature of his 
disease, and said, when Saint Francis asked 
him one day how long he had to live, "Oh, 
this will all pass away some day, please God." 
Whereupon Saint Francis said quaintly, "Doc- 
tor, I am no cuckoo that I should be afraid of 
death." "Then," said the doctor, "you cannot 
live beyond the first days of autumn." At these 
words Saint Francis extended his hands, and 

27 



£>aint Stands of Reem 

with an expression of joy shining in his face and 
trembling in his voice he cried, " Praise unto 
thee, my Lord, for our sister, corporal death, 

"From which no living man can escape. 
Woe unto those who die in mortal sin ; 
Blessed is he who lives according to thy holy will, 
For the second death cannot harm him." 

It was the evening of the fourth of October, 
1226, one of those long twilight evenings of 
Italy when the glow of the setting sun lasts al- 
most till midnight in the deep blue of the sky. 
The world of Umbria— mountain and valley, 
river and plain, as they lay beneath the stars— 
was full of beauty and peace and holy quiet. 
Saint Francis, lying on a bed of ashes, sur- 
rounded by his brethren, was dying. He blessed 
them all in turn, as they stood around him, 
friends and brethren who had been with him 
from his youth. He asked to have read the 
Cantico del Sole and then the thirteenth chap- 
ter of Saint John, beginning with the words, 
" Now before the feast of the passover, when 
Jesus knew that his hour was come that he 
should depart out of this world unto the 
Father, having loved his own which were in 
the world, he loved them unto the end." The 
friars, in tears, knelt in a circle around the bed 
of ashes, praying in a low voice. His last words, 
28 



£>aint Jfrancie of Reeiei 

according to Saint Bonaventura, were from the 
one hundred and forty-second Psalm: "I cried 
unto the Lord with my voice; with my voice 
unto the Lord did I make my supplication;" 
"and saying these words," continues Saint 
Bonaventura, "that most holy soul separated 
from the body and was received into the glory 
of eternal life." 

The next day the body of Saint Francis was 
carried to the Church of Saint George, borne 
by two monks and two magistrates and fol- 
lowed by an immense crowd, stopping on the 
way at the convent of Saint Damian that Saint 
Clara and her sister nuns might gaze for the 
last time on the white, upturned face of their 
spiritual father. At his own request, he was 
buried on a hill to the east of Assisi where 
criminals were executed, and known as the 
Hill of Perdition. When he was canonized by 
Pope Gregory IX the name was changed to the 
Hill of Paradise. To-day a magnificent double 
church rises above the mortal remains of him 
who in his lifetime had scarcely a roof to cover 
his head. 

Of the works of Saint Francis we have but 
few: his two Rules, his Last Will and Testa- 
ment, some letters, fragments of sermons, and 
the Cantico del Sole. As a preacher he was prob- 

29 



&aint Stands of Jteeiei 
ably one of the most successful the world ever 
saw. His method, however, was extremely 
simple. Preaching for him was, to quote his 
own words, but a distribution of the gifts he 
had received from God. His sermons were not 
marked by dogmatism or learning, but con- 
sisted in the exposition of the gospel, the de- 
velopment of the Lord's Prayer, the story of 
the Passion of Christ, and calls to repentance, 
all presented by a heart full of pity, love, and 
tenderness. 

Whenever he entered a city the bells would 
ring; people would leave their work and come 
forth in vast crowds to hear him preach. We 
have but few extant sermons, but that one 
given at the time of the Chapter General held 
at Assisi, when more than five thousand monks 
were present, may be taken as a type of all the 
rest. As a text for his sermon he took these 
words: "My sons, we have promised to God 
great things, but God has promised to us still 
greater. Short is the pleasure of this world; 
the pains that follow are eternal. Little are 
the pains of this world, but the glory of the 
other is infinite." And on these words, preach- 
ing very devoutly, he fortified his brethren 
and inclined them to obedience toward Holy 
Church, to brotherly love, to pray God for all 
30 




CO 
o 

2 O 
CC c 



CO O 

U. g 

O <~ 

< q 

u 5 



§>aint ftanm of Reeiei 
men, to practise patience in adversity and mo- 
deration in prosperity, to keep peace and con- 
cord with God, with men, and with their own 
conscience. "And," he said in conclusion, "I 
command you all who are here present not to 
be anxious what you shall eat or drink, or con- 
cerning any of the things that are necessary to 
the body, but to apply yourselves to prayer unto 
God, for he careth for you." 
The most famous of his works is the Cantico 
del Sole. We have already seen how it was 
written, in the year before his death, while he 
tarried with Saint Clara at the convent of Saint 
Damian. Renan calls it the "most complete ex- 
pression of modern religious sentiment." In it 
we find revealed many features of the character 
of Saint Francis, —his joy and cheerfulness, his 
love for man and nature and God. 

"Praised be thou, O Lord, by all thy creatures, especially 

brother sun, 
Who rises and shines through thee, 
And he is beautiful and radiant in his splendor : 
A fit symbol, Most High God, of thee. 
Be thou praised, O Lord, by sister moon and the stars, 
For thou hast made them to shine in heaven, 
Beautiful and bright and fair. 
And be thou praised, O Lord, for brother wind and sister 

water, for brother fire and mother earth, who supports 

and nourishes us and brings forth fruits and flowers of 

a thousand hues." 



£>aint Stand* of Jtmei 

Rude and in some respects uncouth as these 
lines are, they are yet of great importance as 
being the first genuine religious poem in the 
Italian language, as well as for their influence 
on later poets. Those who have read the magni- 
ficent eulogy of Saint Francis in the eleventh 
canto of the Paradiso of Dante need no elabo- 
rate proof of the love of the stern-eyed scourger 
of the wickedness of his times for the Umbrian 
saint, all gentleness and love. 

The influence of Saint Francis on the arts of 
painting and architecture would merit lengthy 
discussion had we the time. The magnificent 
double church erected over his body at Assisi, 
with its frescoes on the life of the Saint by Cima- 
bue, Giotto and a score of others, gave a death- 
blow to the old conventional Byzantine school 
which till then had ruled the whole Western 
world. The movement toward a more natural 
style of art begun by Cimabue was followed out 
by Giotto, and to-day the cultivated traveller 
turns his steps to those monuments dedicated 
to the glory of Saint Francis— the Church of 
Assisi, Santa Croce at Florence, Saint Anthony 
at Padua— as toward the cradle of modern Ital- 
ian art. 

The chief influence of Saint Francis, however, 
has been exerted through his lifeand character. 
32 



§>aint Stancie ofJiewi 

Of him it could not be said that his "good was 
interred with his bones." It seemed as he went 
through Umbria and Tuscany, preaching and 
converting, as if the early evangelistic days 
had returned. Everywhere he was followed by 
crowds. In 1217 the number of his followers, ac- 
cording to Saint Bonaventura, amounted to five 
thousand. They were drawn from all ranks of 
society ; nobles, lawyers, poets, robbers, one and 
all left their former life, sold all they had to give 
to the poor, and followed him. 

From Italy the movement crossed the Alps 
and spread over Germany; it swept over the 
plains of France, crossed the English Channel, 
and entered England, everywhere welcomed 
by the common people, if not by the clergy and 
monks. Among his most famous disciples we 
may mention John of Parma, at one time Min- 
ister General of the Order, the mystic with the 
angelic countenance, always gracious and al- 
ways smiling, so gentle that the birds would 
come and build their nests upon his desk ; Saint 
Bonaventura, historian, theologian, and poet, 
— the Doctor Seraphicus, as he was called; 
Duns Scotus, the forerunner of modern philo- 
sophy; Roger Bacon, the forerunner of modern 
experimental science. 

But the strangest of all his followers was Ja- 

33 



J»amt Stancie of Rmei 

copone da Todi, that brilliant, rich, and noble 
young lawyer the story of whose conversion 
and later life is so full of interest. In this story 
we are told how one day at a public show a 
scaffolding gave way, and his wife, young and 
beautiful, was killed; how on taking her up it 
was found that beneath her rich garments she 
wore a hair shirt in token of penitence; how 
from that day Jacopone became a changed man, 
wandering about in poor clothing and by his 
eccentric conduct was looked upon as half 
crazy; how on being requested by a relative 
one day to carry two fowls to his dwelling he 
carried them to the family tomb, and, on being 
rebuked by his relative, replied, "Where is 
your dwelling if not here, where you shall live 
forever?" how, bitter to his enemies, his heart 
was filled with love toward God and man ; how, 
wandering in the field one day weeping and be- 
ing asked why, he said, " I am weeping because 
Love is not loved;" how he became widely 
known as a poet, chiefly as the author of the 
beautiful Latin hymn "Stabat Mater dolo- 
rosa;" and how at midnight on Christmas eve 
in the year 1306 he died, singing the hymn, — 

"Jesu nostra fidanza, 
Del cor somma speranza," 



34 



£>aint jftancie offleeiei 

as the monks in the neighboring chapel were 
celebrating mass. 

But the influence of the character of Saint 
Francis was exerted not only indirectly but di- 
rectly. The little collection of epic stories made 
in the fourteenth century, half legend, half his- 
tory,— Wahrheit and Dichtung, as Goethe 
would have called them, — has kept for after 
ages the image of that gentle saint, humble 
and patient, yet kind and courteous, renoun- 
cing all earthly riches, knowledge, and glory, 
yet full of tact and common sense, his heart 
filled with the triple love for God, for nature, 
and for man. Who can estimate the influence 
of such a man on a church full of formalism 
as was that of Rome in the thirteenth century? 
The Catholic historians tell us— more than 
one— that had it not been for Saint Francis 
the Church would have fallen into ruin; that 
the vision of Pope Innocent III, who saw the 
Lateran ready to fall and upheld by Saint 
Francis, was an image of the truth. Who can 
estimate his influence on the private lives and 
character not only of Catholics, but of Protes- 
tants, from the thirteenth century down to the 
present? 

For, after all, the true lesson of his life is this, 
— that a man may be happy and useful though 

35 



§>aint ftanm of JTeeiei 

poor; that a man can be gentle and kind, 
though rich and powerful ; that sweetness and 
light are as great a force in the world's history 
as physical strength or intellectual acumen; 
that only by detaching our hearts from the en- 
tangling love for wealth and power and plea- 
sure can we enter on the path of true virtue and 
true happiness. The times have changed, in- 
deed, since then ; the monkish ideal has gone 
forever, but the essence of the teaching of 
Saint Francis is the same now as then : 

"Die alte Schale nur ist fern, 
Geblieben ist uns doch der Kern." 

"The old shell only's passed away, 
The kernel is the same to-day." 

We find this spirit exemplified in Abraham 
Lincoln, statesman and dreamer, wisest among 
his fellows, yet tender-hearted, compassionate, 
simple, and true; in Von Dollinger, the great 
German theologian, "the most learned and the 
most lovable man in Christendom;" in Fried- 
rich Ratzel, so recently dead, referred to by a 
colleague as that "profound investigator with 
the mind of a poet and the heart of a child." 
We need not imitate or even approve many 
things said and done by Saint Francis, but we 
cannot withhold our admiration for his life as 
36 



Jxrint fvancie ofRewi 

a whole. Nor should we be accused of false sen- 
timent in holding up that life as a model in 
many respects to the youth of our own time. 
For would we not call that man wise and for- 
tunate who while doing his work from day to 
day, in the shop, on the farm, in the courts 
of law, or the halls of Congress, is free from 
merely selfish ambition, seeks to comfort and 
help the weak, is full of genuine love for God 
and man, and who throughout it all is cheerful 
and serene? 

A few weeks ago there died in Brooklyn a 
business man whose life was a shining ex- 
ample of just these things; who, after a short 
though active career, had acquired not only an 
influential position and a large fortune, but the 
love of all sorts and conditions of men. At his 
funeral there was sung as a hymn a poem 
which he himself had loved for many years, — 
a poem written by Sir Henry Wotton, the 
favorite of James I, and the friend of Izaak 
Walton, a man noted for his graciousness, his 
kindness, and his wisdom. It sums up those 
features of the Franciscan ideal which may 
reasonably be applied to our own, and to all 
times: 

"How happy is he born and taught 
Who serveth not another's will ; 

37 



&aint ftancie of JTeetet 

Whose armor is his honest thought, 
And simple truth his utmost skill ; 

" Whose passions not his masters are, 
Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
Untied unto the world by care 
Of public fame, or private breath ; 

"Who God doth late and early pray 
More of his grace than gifts to lend ; 
And entertains the harmless day 
With a religious book or friend. 

4 'This man is free from servile bands 
Of hope to rise or fear to fall : 
Lord of himself, though not of lands, 
And having nothing, yet hath all." 



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SEP 21 1806 



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